like a little girl's.

"To go to Mr. Wilbur's?" she asked, looking towards me.

I rose to explain, and handed the letter.

She threw off her things, opened it, and began reading. When I saw the
smile spreading over her face, I knew Mr. Nathaniel had been writing
some of his nonsense.

"Perhaps," said I, as she was folding it up, "you don't know Mr.
Nathaniel. He says anything. I don't know what he's been writing, but"--

"Oh, nothing bad," said she, laughing. "He only says you are a nice
young man."

"Ah!" I replied. "Well, he does sometimes speak the truth."

Then we both laughed, and, for new acquaintances, seemed on pretty good
terms.

There was something about her face which made me think of the little
Margaret who had moved away. She had the same pretty laugh, the same
innocent-looking mouth,--only the child Margaret was not so
fair-complexioned. Her figure, and the way of carrying her head,
reminded me of the West-India girls, as I had seen them riding out in
their _volantes_. I decided that I was pleased with her. When she was
ready to go, with her blue silk pelisse and the plumes in her hat, I was
glad I came, and thought, "How much better is a girl than a sheep!"